


Simply the Best

by thewonderzebra



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: A celebration of sorts, Bergy's 1000th game, Boston Bruins, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 10:42:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18009437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewonderzebra/pseuds/thewonderzebra
Summary: Brad has ideas about how to celebrate Patrice's 1000th game. Patrice is more than willing to go along with those plans.





	Simply the Best

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for my absence! Please take this bit of absolute fluff and smut as a token of my apology. This was inspired by Bergy's 1000th game...I'll say no more. Enjoy!

This is Patrice's night to shine, and Brad is so incredibly proud. Every clip of a hype video being shown, every word of acknowledgement from former (and current) teammates, every cheer from the crowd made Brad's skin rise in goosebumps, made his heart beat faster, made his chest practically ache with pride. Naturally, he is proud of Patrice for reaching a thousand games. He is proud of him for repeatedly overcoming adversity, and he is proud of him for being, irrefutably, the best player on the ice. But most of all, Brad is proud that Patrice chose him, loves him, belongs to him, and no one else; and he has a plan in the works to reflect that pride. 

After the game is over, when the Bruins have notched a win and the team has given speeches in the locker room to congratulate Patrice on his accomplishment, Brad all but attaches himself to Patrice's side. He stands on tiptoe to press soft kisses to Patrice's cheek, and sneaks his hands under his jacket to run his fingers along Patrice's back and sides, delighting at the shiver he feels race down the alternate captain's spine. Brad continues this subtle torture, all the while Patrice attempts to be diplomatic, socializing with his teammates. 

Finally, when Brad can detect Patrice's voice creeping higher as a result of the left winger's roaming hands, Brad knows he is winning the unspoken battle to get Patrice home. He slips one hand into the back pocket of Patrice's pants, his facial expression entirely innocent as he feels Patrice flinch. It is at that moment that Patrice makes a muddled excuse for needing to get home, bidding his teammates goodnight; Brad grins, knowing he is one step closer to getting what he wants as he follows suit. He then proceeds to grab Patrice's hand, and all but drags him to the parking garage. 

When they reach their car, Brad pulls Patrice around to the passenger side, and pushes him up against the door, kissing him deeply. Patrice wraps his arms around Brad's waist, leaning against the car for support and surrendering completely to the kiss. It is when he moans softly into the kiss that Brad pulls away, a self-satisfied grin on his face. Patrice glowers, but he is too out of breath to scold his husband. Luckily for him, he doesn't have to say anything. 

"Hop in," Brad says, pressing another quick kiss to Patrice's lips while simultaneously fishing the keys out of the alternate captain's pocket. "I'll drive." When Patrice regards him with a look that is a cross between suspicion and anxiety, Brad is quick to add, in a sing-song voice: "We'll get home faster." There is something about the look on Brad's face that silently promises Patrice that good things are coming to him--and ultimately, he relents, nodding and turning to get into the passenger seat. 

With Brad behind the wheel, even in the somewhat chaotic streets of Boston, they make it home in record time. Patrice feels only slightly queasy, but he pays his stomach no mind, instead following his husband inside and shedding his outer layers. He has barely gotten his coat off before Brad is pinning him against the wall, like he did against the car, and is kissing him breathless. 

"So, mister one thousand," Brad murmurs, wrapping one arm around Patrice's waist and trailing the other up and down his chest. There's something about the look on his face and the tone of his voice that makes anticipatory shivers race up and down Patrice's spine. "How would you feel about taking the celebration to the bedroom?" As he says this, Brad presses his hips against Patrice's grinding ever so subtly into him; it is clear what he is hinting at, and Patrice is more than willing to go along with whatever plan his husband has in store for him. 

As such, Patrice finds himself nodding, and doing so almost violently enough to cause a headache. "God yeah," he agrees. The "mister one thousand" comment goes right over the alternate captain's head. If it were anyone else calling him that, he would likely blush and shrug it off. But when Brad talks to him in that tone, touches him so teasingly, it is all Patrice can do to be compliant rather than turning the tables and pressing Brad up against the wall (as pretty of a picture as that always seems to be). 

Brad grins at Patrice's agreement--though, truthfully, he expected nothing less--and kisses him deeply once more. When the need for oxygen forces them to separate, Patrice holds out his hands, a silent gesture surrendering all his control. Brad takes both of Patrice's hands, kissing each of his wrists tenderly, and offering him a smile, one that is easily returned. Then, the left winger turns on his heels and starts for the bedroom, practically dragging his other half along behind him. 

Upon shutting the bedroom door, Brad saunters toward Patrice, running his hands over his chest and unbuttoning his shirt. He slowly, meticulously removes each item of Patrice's clothing--as well as his own--as he backs the alternate captain toward their bed, being sure to drag his hands over the most sensitive parts of Patrice's body. Brad smiles into the kiss he has initiated each time he feels goosebumps rise on Patrice's skin, each time he feels his other half shiver and feels him whimper against his lips. 

Once they reach the bed, Brad breaks the kiss, and pushes Patrice ever so gently, silently encouraging him to lie down on the bed. Of course, Patrice does so without question. The left winger is then quick to follow his love, climbing over him just enough to straddle his hips, effectively pinning Patrice to the bed. He kisses him fiercely, loving the way Patrice's hands come to grip his hips, keeping him close. 

It is when they part for air that Patrice notices there is something balled up in Brad's hands. He can feel his eyebrows furrow in confusion as he works to discern just what this item is. Luckily, he doesn't have to work at this for long, as Brad gives him the answer he is looking for. 

"Do you trust me?" Brad asks, albeit somewhat breathlessly. 

Patrice nods, not needing to think about the answer. "Of course, ange," he replies. "I trust you with my life." 

Brad smiles softly, at that. But the smile is short-lived, and quickly replaced by a look of determination. He kisses Patrice once more, and proceeds to trail his lips to the alternate captain's ear. "Give me your hands, love," he whispers. 

Given the amount of teasing Brad has put him through since leaving the Garden, Patrice wants to ask why. But something tells him to go with the flow, tells him that whatever is about to happen will be more than worth it. It always is, with Brad. So, Patrice does as asked, offering his hands to his other half, palms up. He is more than willing to give up control, as long as it is Brad who is taking it. 

Gently, Brad takes Patrice's wrists in his hands, and brings them to his lips, kissing across his pulse point. Though he isn't surprised at the alternate captain's surrender, he takes a moment of reverence over it nonetheless. It is rare to see Patrice give up his discipline and fine-tuned self control--whether it be on the ice or in any other facet of life; so, when it happens, it always takes Brad off guard. When Patrice willingly gives up his control, the left winger thinks to himself that it is a miracle his heart doesn't stop beating; he just wants to know what he ever did to be worthy of this honor. 

Before he can get too lost in his thoughts of awe, Brad silently tells himself to focus on the task at hand. He kisses each of Patrice's wrists one more time, then unfurls the tie he is holding--the same tie he had worn to the Garden. Immediately, Patrice's widen with recognition, then darken with desire. This only serves to motivate Brad, who quickly and expertly binds Patrice's wrists with the tie, then anchors the tie to the headboard. Patrice tugs his wrists experimentally, but as expected, is not able to pull the tie loose. 

Pleased with his work, Brad leans in for another kiss, his tongue battling with Patrice's for dominance. "This is for your own good, Bergy," he murmurs as he pulls away. "Tonight is all about you. And that means you can't distract me with those god-like hands of yours." As he says this, Brad gives Patrice a wink that leaves the alternate captain squirming with desire. 

"You don't trust that I can keep my hands to myself if you asked?" Patrice wonders aloud. His voice is stripped raw with arousal, but somehow sounds so smooth and silky to Brad. Shivers run down the left winger's spine, and damn it, he thinks; this man is good. 

With as much self-control as he can manage, Brad levels Patrice's gaze, and shakes his head. "Nope," he replies, hoping his voice doesn't sound as shaky as he is feeling. "Not even a little bit." 

Though Patrice cannot move his hands, he is able to manage a shrug. "All right then," he says. "I suppose you can have your way with me tonight. Go on then." His words are all but a dare to his other half, the man who is as much easily instigated as he is an instigator…and it is exactly what Patrice wants. 

Before he is tempted by Patrice's sultry voice to stray from his original plan, Brad kisses Patrice fiercely, leaving him breathless. He proceeds to trail his lips across his other half's cheeks, and down his neck, pausing to suck and nip marks into Patrice's skin. When he is satisfied with the number of bruises he has left on his love's neck, Brad continues kissing his way down Patrice's body. He pays special attention to Patrice's chest and hipbones, knowing those spots drive the alternate captain nearly insane. 

Indeed, Brad's attentions leave Patrice trembling, moaning Brad's name along with loving nonsense in French. Seemingly without thinking about the action, Patrice lets his legs fall open, allowing Brad to settle on his stomach between them as he continues to kiss and nip a teasing line back and forth between Patrice's hips. Each touch, each kiss causes Patrice to arch off the bed, chasing Brad's touch with his body. His moans become more insistent and tortured-sounding, and Brad is grateful that Patrice can't see or feel the way his body is burning up from the inside out. 

It is only when Patrice is begging and on the verge of screaming in frustration that Brad gives him what he knows he wants. Before he does, though, he taps Patrice's side gently, garnering the alternate captain's attention. "You've accomplished so much and I'm so proud of you," Brad murmurs in a moment's respite from teasing. "You've earned this." With that, he closes his mouth around him. 

Patrice is certain he momentarily blacks out when Brad takes his length into his mouth. The feeling provides so much relief that he actually wails his husband's name. He is rewarded by Brad lapping at his slit while simultaneously hollowing his cheeks and creating an almost unbearable amount of pressure. When the left winger adds his hand to the mix, gripping and moving in a corkscrew and counteracting his lips and tongue, Patrice knows this is going to end embarrassingly soon. 

Almost immediately, Patrice can feel his body begin to tingle, and when he opens his eyes to look down at the incredible sight of Brad between his legs, he gets tunnel vision. "Marchy," he cries, trying to get his husband's attention. "Marchy, I'm so close. Please." His words are both a plea and a warning, but Brad seems to pay him no mind. 

Instead, Brad hums in acknowledgement and continues his ministrations, sending the most delicious vibrations throughout Patrice's body and setting his blood on fire. If anything, Brad increases the pace of his hand and his tongue, and soon enough, Patrice is sent careening over the edge he had been teetering on. His vision goes completely black and all he can hear is white noise. He is vaguely aware of pulling on the restraints as he arches his back off the bed, vaguely aware that there is some kind of scream coming out of his mouth, but he doesn't care in the slightest. All Patrice can focus on is seeing stars and riding out the wave of ecstasy Brad has inflicted upon him. 

He isn't sure how much time passes before he feels the aftershocks stop pulsating through his body, but when Patrice opens his eyes, he finds Brad lying stretched out next to him, staring at him with a mixture of fondness and pride. "Oh hey," the left winger greets. "Welcome back." He leans in for a gentle kiss, and even though Patrice just came, he can feel desire overcome him like a kick in the stomach when he tastes himself on Brad's lips. 

When Brad pulls away just enough to card his fingers through Patrice's hair, Patrice begins thinking of the right words to accurately describe how he is feeling. The more he tries, however, the more every known descriptor in both the English and French languages seem to fail him. So, he finally settles on the kneejerk reaction he had upon coming back to his senses. "Holy fucking shit," he murmurs, his voice as weak and shaky as the rest of his body. 

This articulation seems to delight Brad, who throws his head back and laughs for several moments before returning his attention to Patrice. "My thoughts exactly," he says, winking. "That was hot as fuck." He leans in once more and nuzzles Patrice's cheek before kissing him once more. 

Instinctively, Patrice tries to turn over and wrap his arms around Brad to pull him close and bury his face in his neck while he comes down from his high. However, he forgets that his wrists are tied. So, when he tries to turn, he yelps in surprise when he meets enough resistance to keep him in place. He looks over at Brad, who is regarding him with a smirk on his face. Patrice isn't sure whether to be confused, angry, or otherwise. 

"Oh, Bergy. You thought I was done with you?" Brad asks. "Not even close, my love. I still have so much more appreciation to show you."

It is in that moment that Patrice forgets all about his anger and confusion. Instead, desire fully overtakes him once more, and he swallows heavily. There is something in Brad's voice that makes Patrice want to do anything and everything the left winger asks of him, so long as it means Brad will make him come again. The thought causes goosebumps to rise on his skin and a shiver to run down his spine. 

Brad seems to sense that Patrice is turned on by his words, and smiles smugly. He then proceeds to kiss him breathless once more, running his hands up and down Patrice's body and teasing his length. After only a few moments of this, certainly sooner than he thought was possible, Patrice feels himself harden again. He whimpers into Brad's mouth, and bucks his hips upward involuntarily. 

Seemingly satisfied with this reaction, Brad breaks the kiss, and sits upright. He crawls toward the foot of the bed, and taps Patrice's knees gently. "Bend your legs up for me," he requests, though his voice is gentle rather than commanding. Patrice does so eagerly, and without question. He can tell what is coming next, and his body is all but buzzing with anticipation. 

Brad kneels between Patrice's thighs and grasps his trembling hips. Patrice tries to shift his hips toward his other half, and whimpers when Brad's grip tightens, effectively keeping him as still as the tie is on his wrists. "Relax," Brad murmurs. "I'll take care of you, I promise." 

Just when the anticipation becomes too much for Patrice to bear, and he is ready to cry and beg for Brad to just fuck him already, Brad gives him what he wants. In one fluid motion, Brad buries himself inside Patrice, so far so that their hips touch. Patrice cries out in shock and relief at the feeling, though he subconsciously wishes his hands were free to be able to dig his fingers into Brad's back. Brad stays still for what seems, to Patrice, like a painstakingly long moment, but finally, finally begins to move.

As Brad works Patrice expertly from the inside out, hitting every spot that he knows will drive Patrice wild, the alternate captain is once more aware of how quickly this is going to be over. He whines and moans and cries Brad's name with every stroke of his hips, and feels his body begin to shake precariously. When Brad wraps a hand around Patrice's length to give him additional stimulation, Patrice is convinced he is going to lose his mind completely. 

"Marchy," Patrice whines. "Brad, please. I'm so fucking close. I need…I need…" he trails off, unable to formulate any more coherent thoughts. His vision has narrowed down to Brad above him, holding him, fucking him senseless, and his universe is now entirely focused on his other half. 

"I know you are," Brad murmurs, his pace still relentless. He leans down to kiss Patrice, and whispers praise in his ear when he feels his shaking become more intense. "That's it, Bergy. Let go and come for me. Go on." 

Whether it is Brad's words or his actions, Patrice is unsure. All he knows is that two more strokes of both Brad's hips and his hand, and he is done for. He is once again, vaguely aware of himself screaming Brad's name over and again as he arches off the bed, but otherwise, his senses abandon him in favor of him seeing stars. 

Feeling Patrice writhe beneath him and feeling his body tighten, it doesn't take much longer for Brad to be done for as well. With one last rational thought, he pulls the tie loose from Patrice's hands, and feels his husband unconsciously pull him closer. Then, he flies over the edge too, spilling inside of Patrice and collapsing on top of him, the mess on his stomach be damned. 

Some time filled with heavy breathing and quivering limbs passes before Brad finally has enough strength to roll off of Patrice and curl up at his side. More time passes still before either one has enough energy to speak. When that moment comes, it is Brad who breaks the silence. 

"So, superstar," he calls to Patrice, ignoring the subsequent eye roll at the nickname. "How was that for a celebration?" 

Patrice, exhausted and so incredibly content, turns onto his side and smiles lovingly at Brad. "Absolutely the best celebration I could have asked for," he replies. "Je t'aime, ange." 

"I love you too," Brad says. "Now how would you feel about a round two?" 

Patrice groans, but it is not a noise of discontent. "Give me some time to recover," he answers. "But you are so on."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and indulging me, as always. I hope you liked it! Leave a comment below if you feel so inclined. Positive feedback feeds my plot bunnies. Come say hi to me on Tumblr! I'm at the same URL there, too. :)


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